Prize
by Total Targaryen
Summary: She was taken to answer for Xandar's crimes, so that Ronan could deliver his twisted justice. But then she became a possession, an object of his obsession, and she knew that although he may not kill her, she was never going home.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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**A/N: So as usual, my imagination got the better of me. You'll learn more about the unnamed woman in the next few chapters, this is mainly just a teaser to see what you all think.**

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The cold bit at her, digging relentlessly like a knife twisting under her skin.

She unglued her eyelids to darkness. It made her feel claustrophobic, the fact that she could not see anything. Fighting back panic, she took a few deep breaths and focused. Her eyes would soon adjust to the overwhelming darkness and then she would be able to see – but would she want to? That final thought sent shivers down her spine.

She couldn't remember where she was or how she got there. She attributed that to the dull ache in the side of her head, the throbbing that made it feel as though she had been hit hard by something. Knocked unconscious. She rubbed at her arms, feeling goosebumps rising on her skin.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice hoarse and meek, echoing in the expanse of the dark room. As she'd predicted, her eyes adjusted. It was bigger than she had expected, but had all the grimness of a cell. She was lying on a bed, crisp sheets pressed against the bare skin of her legs. There was a dresser and a basin across the room.

She eased her frame across the bed, setting her feet down on the floor. The stone was cold too. Everything about this place seemed cold and dark, and she closed her eyes and made herself focus, trying to think back to what happened.

She remembered an attack on the moon base of Chrydia where she had been located. She didn't remember who lived or who died – but shivers overcame her entire body as she remembered a huge warlord dressed all in black armour. His skin had been sapphire blue marked with coal black paint, his eyes sharp and piercing. She had attempted to shoot him. She couldn't remember what happened after that, no matter how hard she tried.

Why hadn't he killed her? She remembered that face twisted in contempt, as though she was some lower life form. Why had he chosen to spare her, when he clearly despised her? Sucking in her breath, she pushed herself to her feet, crossing over to the basin. The taps looked odd but she turned them all the same. She splashed her face with the cool liquid, but something felt off. It was thick and sticky on her fingers.

She fumbled desperately for a light. She needed to be able to see, for the darkness felt like it was consuming her. Her breath came in ragged pants as she finally found a switch, and when she flipped it she had to cover her eyes from the dim light that shone over the room. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she found that there was no mirror, but the basin was silver. Peering at her reflection, she expected to see her pale complexion and fiery red hair, but instead her face seemed covered with something black. Like the coal-coloured paint on the warlord's face.

She screamed and staggered back, scrubbing at her skin frantically with her sleeve. Her panic ascended into terror. Her heart raced in her chest and she spun around at the sound of the door to her prison hissing open. Her hands balled into fists and she prepared herself for whatever was to come.

The warlord entered the room, and she was struck by his sheer enormity. He was much taller than her, despite the fact that she herself was quite tall for a woman. She swallowed the lump in her throat and met his gaze defiantly.

"Who are you? Why did you bring me here?"

"My name is Ronan the Accuser." His voice was baritone, and she recognised the name with a thrill of horror. A Kree psychopath who was destroying Xandarian outposts all throughout the galaxy, relentless in his mission of administering justice – but for what? "And you are here to answer for the crimes of your people."


	2. No Light

**Chapter One: No Light**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to all of your for your amazing feedback. I never expected I would get so many reviews, favourites and follows. I have big plans for Morrow, although I'm a little hesitant. This story is meant to be dark, but I want to know: how dark can you handle? Let me know!**

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"My people?" The young woman's words came out hoarse, and shriller than she had anticipated. She blinked slowly as Ronan strode towards her. She felt very much as though he was the predator and she was the prey. Her breath rattled out through her lips and her heart was racing. Surely he didn't _know._ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you think me to be an ignorant fool?" Ronan now stood right before her, towering over her slender form. She knew that she was shaking, but she could not help it. Capturing her was one thing, but capturing her for a _reason_ was another. "I know exactly who you are, _girl_. Your legacy taints this galaxy, and it burns like a beacon, what with your auburn hair."

Ronan reached out slowly, as if to tuck a strand behind her ear. Yet it was too gentle a gesture for him, and she panicked, resisting the strong urge to smack his hand away. Instead the warlord's hand fisting tightly in the auburn tresses he had been speaking of, tugging hard and making the young woman yelp. So he did know who she was. Perhaps he had even expected to find her on Chrydia. The thought made her feel sick to the stomach, knowing that her movements could have been tracked.

"Morrow Perona." The words were spoken with open mockery, and she screwed her eyes shut. She felt as though she had failed her family, her people. What should have been a simple opening of the new moon base had gone horribly wrong. They would likely talk about it for centuries. "Of the Perona dynasty, the royal house that has shaped the traditions of Xandar for millennia."

Morrow felt nausea rolling deep in her stomach, working its way up her throat. Her grandmother, Solara Perona, was the Queen of Xandar – and up until two years previous, Morrow's father Caelan had been heir to the throne. But then a horrific accident had occurred, Caelan was dead and Morrow was her grandmother's heir. She felt even sicker thinking about her father's ship exploding mid-air, and paranoia set in as she wondered whether Ronan was responsible for that as well.

"What do you want with me?" Morrow whispered. She felt tears pricking at her eyes and she chastised herself. No, she was not some weak, pampered little princess who Ronan would easily manipulate or torture. She had no clue what Ronan would gain by taking her prisoner, but she would remain defiant. If he intended to use her, Solara's sole heir, as some kind of bargaining chip – well, it would never work.

"I want to see Xandar fall." Ronan stepped back, releasing his iron grip on her hair. His eyes were no longer cold and impassive, not when he spoke of Xandar – they lit up with fury, and Morrow could not understand what it was about her home planet that so angered him. "You, little princess, will be its destruction."

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Time seemed to become irrelevant. Morrow drifted in and out of sleep, never able to fully succumb to slumber. Had mere hours passed, or had weeks flashed by without her knowing? She woke once to a pile of what appeared to be clothes neatly folded and set upon the end of her bed, and the dim light on when she knew she had turned it off. Rubbing her eyes, Morrow sat up – only to turn her head at the feeling of eyes upon her.

"Awake at last." It was not Ronan, but the woman who sauntered towards her – because despite the lack of hair, her frame and features were decidedly feminine – was blue-skinned also. Yet her eyes were dark as night, and she didn't look to be Kree. Morrow was not quite sure what species the woman was, yet there was a piercing coldness about her eyes that made her decide she was just as deadly as Ronan. "Get up, little Xandarian. Ronan has requested that you be present for dinner."

_Dinner?_ Morrow couldn't quite comprehend, as the woman's mouth twisted with disdain. Her hands fumbled for the clothes that had been set on the end of her bed. She remembered another, completely different, instance when a man had chosen her clothes for her. The thought made a slight smirk tug at the corners of her lips, however she sincerely doubted that Ronan was going to be providing her with anything revealing. He despised her kind, so there was no chance of him having a lust for her physical form.

The dress was plain black, as she had expected, and had long sleeves. Morrow stared down at the white dress she had worn to Chrydia for the opening of the moon base. Making sure her gaze was firmly upon the blue woman, she held up the black dress and tossed it across the room, before folding her arms over her chest and trying to appear confident.

"I will wear the clothes I have on now."

"Ungrateful brat," the blue-skinned woman hissed, baring her teeth and starting towards Morrow. She looked as though she dearly wished to slap her, however she never raised a hand to the red-haired young woman. "Ronan will be greatly displeased with this defiance."

"Very well," Morrow said curtly, pushing herself to her feet. She was very aware of her unintimidating state – a plain white dress, messy red hair and bare feet. Oh yes, Ronan would certainly tremble to behold her. "Then I will face his displeasure. Now, do you plan to take me to him or not?"

The woman seized Morrow's arm tight enough to bruise, practically dragging her from the small room that she had been confined to for the past…she had no idea how long. She did her best to keep her eyes upon her surroundings, as she was marched down dim corridors until finally they stopped in front of a pair of doors guarded by two creatures that Morrow recognised to be Sakaarans.

"Ronan has requested her." The woman tightened her grip on Morrow's arm, enough to make her grimace. One of the Sakaarans tapped a code into the panel beside the door, and once they slid open, she was marched inside.

The interior of the room was just as dim as the rest of the ship so far, but it was significantly larger. A long table stretched along the room, its most prominent feature. Ronan rose from where he had been kneeling down across the far side of the room, and Morrow wondered if he had been in prayer. Did the Kree have gods? She was unsure, for she knew less of their culture than she would have liked.

"Thank you, Nebula. That will be all."

The blue-skinned woman, Nebula, released Morrow and strode out of the room. Ronan's contemptuous gaze raked over her, and she didn't ever think she had felt so small. Perhaps in terms of ranking she held a position of power, but her social rank was nothing aboard this ship – or was it? After all, Ronan had taken her for the pure and simple reason that she was of the Perona dynasty.

"You did not wear the dress that I placed in your quarters."

"No." Morrow planted her hands on her hips. "I refuse to be dressed. I will wear the clothes of my people, thank you."

"You have fire," Ronan noted. Morrow expected him to appear irritated, but instead he looked almost _amused._ As if this was a mere game they played, and her attempts to win were entertaining at the most. "But I will snuff it out."

Morrow glanced over at the table. There was no huge meal laid out, just a few simple platters. No food she recognised. She pressed her lips together as her stomach betrayed her by rumbling loudly. She _was_ hungry. Ronan gestured towards the table, and for once Morrow was obedient and took her seat. Ronan sat opposite her, and even as Morrow hesitantly reached for her food, she felt his sharp gaze upon her.

"How am I going to help you destroy Xandar?" she asked carefully, keeping her eyes on her plate.

"Tomorrow I will send a transmission to the Queen of Xandar," Ronan announced. Morrow let her red hair fall about her face, trying to obscure herself from his gaze. "You will be present for this. I will let her know that you, her granddaughter, will become a personification of what will happen to Xandar."

"And then I suppose you will kill me," Morrow murmured, trying and failing to keep her tone light. Of course she feared death, especially death by such a violent means as Ronan would no doubt use.

"No, I intend to make you an example to your people," Ronan stated, watching as the auburn-haired young woman picked over her food.

"How do you intend to do that?" Morrow asked, lifting her eyes from her plate to stare directly across at the Kree.

Ronan's expression was imperceptible, but his eyes shone. "By showing them that even the mightiest among them can fall. My intention was never to kill you, little princess. It is to break you."


End file.
